


Missing the Obvious

by thirdtimecharmed



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Detectives, Gen, Sulking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdtimecharmed/pseuds/thirdtimecharmed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a brilliant mind, certainly. However, he's developed a penchant for missing clues that Dr. Watson always seems to catch first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing the Obvious

            “Well of course it’s quite clear, from his slouch and the size of his coffee, not to mention the frankly dreadful knitwear with the thrift store tag still on, but how on earth did you notice that?” he asked as they passed a research library on a grey walk around London.

            “I didn’t,” John chortled, “There’s a uni decal on his bookbag, Sherlock,” he pointed, with a nod for emphasis, and Sherlock exhaled in shocked defeat. As a matter of petty revenge, he doubled his pace, but his only reward apart from the doctor’s double step was an amused huff.

            The temper tantrum that followed burned through three dressing gowns and several concertos’ worth of irritation, earned them an eviction threat, and only fully blew over two weeks later when John completely failed to notice the painfully obvious tells of his new so-called “girlfriend”,who was merely using him to get back at a girl of her own. Fortunately for both of them, John’s sulking was far less dramatic.

 ~~~

           Something about the pure thrill of being held at gunpoint sparked his mind like nothing else. As he scanned the room and his assailant for the thousandth time, the same tired details aligned themselves into a brand new story, and suddenly the stolen manuscript was not at all stolen, just misplaced by a careless employee who had unintentionally dragged an organized crime boss into the mix. Of course, organized crime bosses don’t particularly appreciate new  recruits suddenly knowing all the details of their drug habit. Or their shaving routine. Or their penchant for foreign prostitutes. Thus, the gun.

           Of course, hired hitmen don’t particularly appreciate being outed to their bosses, either. With a flourish, Sherlock started talking.

           “You all think you’re clever, as if you could ever pin me down, come now, I know every detail of your pathetic cabal. Including,” he paused for dramatic effect, “their views on certain sexual orientations.” 

           The hired thug took two halting steps back as he lowered his gun, spitting a curse off to the side.

           “So you figured me out,” he growled, advancing again, “what’s stopping me from shooting you anyway?”

           It looked as if Sherlock had been waiting his whole life to answer that very question.

           “Because everything in this room tells a story. My dead body they’ll expect, but they’ll wonder, don’t you think, why you had to kill him too.” He gestured over to where John sat, watching the scene with a trained eye and a twitching hand. “You were hired to kill me, not me and someone who ought to be interrogated. Eventually, questions get around, don’t they.”

           The man spat again.

           “Stop that, it’s an insult to your carpeting,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Now if we’d like to be civilized, your gun is no longer necessary.” He moved over to untie John as the shocked thug obeyed him, and started circling the whole scene, flattening the crumpled rug and neatly sidestepping a toppled fern. As John stretched out every tendon in his body, Sherlock continued his well earned monologue.

           “Oh, but you do an excellent job of hiding it, though. Almost enough to fool me, but not quite. Room too much in order, your pocket square matches your tie and that was a box of hair dye in your bathroom, always be careful to hide those, people always find them by the way. Let’s see, anything I’ve missed? Oh, yes, of course, evidence of past lovers, your bedspread is rumpled on both sides, and there are two sizes of shirts in your open wardrobe but there is no makeup or product in your bathroom. So you have a lover, a regular one, but not a woman. Obvious.”

           John, now pointing a gun at the man’s head, gave another smirk, and Sherlock’s own smile flattened into something more befuddled. Of course that was the moment the thug chose to lash out at Sherlock’s ankles, earning him a solid crack to the base of the neck from John.

          After police lights flashed and Sherlock informed a baffled librarian that the document she was looking for could most likely be found in financing files and Lestrade rolled his eyes and told Sherlock to be careful for Christ’s sake and it wasn’t his job to go undercover anyway and Sherlock ignored him pointedly, he got around to asking John what his smirk was about.

          “What?”

          “You smirked. You never smirk, so it must have been of some amusement.”

          “Oh, you mean back with tall dark and thick as a board back there?”

          Sherlock chuckled in acknowledgement.

         “Well I’m assuming you saw the dirty magazines on his nightstand.”

         “The-“

         “You didn’t see?” John was too quick to read him, and the worst thing was his genuine surprise, “you missed it completely?” The triumph slowly snuck into his gait as the t wo walked home through the darkened London streets.

         Sherlock opened his mouth, searching for the searing counterattack that will leave his powers of observation untouchable from any plebian attack. The line didn’t come, and John actually passed the consulting detective when he stopped in the street.

         John turned around and returned to Sherlock.

         “Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never missed a detail? Even you’re not perfect.”

        Then Sherlock met John’s eye. He wasn’t sure what John saw in his gaze that created the sudden sympathy, but the moment lasted far longer than most people go without blinking. It broke only as John nodded and muttered ‘Christ’ under his breath.

         Their walk was silent after that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's all I have for now, but I can continue if there's interest. Thanks for reading, guys!


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